


Hey Lolita

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Kink Meme, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teasing can only work for so long before the tempation becomes too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Lolita

**Author's Note:**

> Copious amounts of Lolita references. Written for this lovely [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=119112223#t119112223) at the Sherlock Kink Meme.

By ten o’clock, even the most dedicated of workers were heading home or gone. Every sound in the building echoing a little louder for their absence, she was certain. Mycroft could almost imagine just how loud her heels would be in the deserted corridors, carpeting be damned. Of course, leaving wasn’t anywhere on her schedule as she sat behind her desk, legs crossed at the ankle as she patiently waited for her final guest of the evening.

A rather strange turn of events given how rarely she found herself waiting for anyone. There was scarcely a woman more powerful than her in all of Britain, not that she would ever confess to that. No, she was merely a simple civil servant with the simplest of duties. In no way different from her male counterparts as she sat behind her large desk, jacket unbuttoned, glass of the finest whiskey at hand as she waited, listening for the sound of footsteps, she knew she would never hear.

Because, like so many men before her, Mycroft saw no harm in using her office for her personal pleasures. After all, the corruption  was supposed to come with the power. Although, she was almost certain that none of her predecessors had ever abused power in the way she intended to that evening.

Looking toward the door when it opened, she sat back in her seat as her sister walked into the room. The fact that she was on time meant that Sherlock was up to something, although Mycroft couldn’t immediately place what it was. She wasn’t high, for once, which was strange, not that Mycroft was complaining. She often hoped that her sister would stop with her ridiculous drug habit given that they would destroy her body and mind eventually and Mycroft valued both more than she would’ve cared to admit.

Something Sherlock silently questioned with a quirk of her eyebrows. Turning Mycroft’s computer around to face her, she looked searched for something only time would make apparent. Quirking a brow, Sherlock bit at her lip before clicking on something, music slowly filling the room.

Standing in the centre of the room as the violins swelled, Sherlock smirked tauntingly as she slowly shrugged out of her jacket, letting it fall to the floor like a cheap rag. A pool of black fabric that Mycroft couldn’t take her eyes off of as Sherlock slowly rocked her hips. Looking up would be like looking into the eyes of a feral beast. Frightening, vicious and oh so worth the agony it would bring.

But her will power held no chance against her own curiosity, eyes eagerly following up that pale hand on Sherlock’s leg up from her knee along the inseam of her trousers, slowly crossing along her thigh and up her side, lifting that purple shirt just enough to show a sliver of skin as it caught around her pinkie finger as she rotated her hand to briefly cup the side of her own breast. That lingering moment when that hand Mycroft envied so much stilled before continuing up along her neck and into those raven curls.

Clenching her glass in her hand a bit tighter, Mycroft shifted in her seat, pressing her knees together. If only the Greeks of long ago could see what a real siren was. Sherlock didn’t even have to open her mouth to be dangerously tempting as she ran her fingers along those glossy lips, wicked tongue brushing  up against them in the process so that those fingers could leave a tantalizing wet streak down between her clavicles and delving between her breasts, a trail so many would love to trace with their tongues.

Letting out a shuttering breath, Mycroft pinched at the bridge of her nose briefly, letting her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, it was with a vague sense of regret as Sherlock began unbuttoning her shirt. The black lace bra she wore under covering so little of her chest, making every breath she took seem as though it would be enough to push the limits of it.

Shaking it, Mycroft tried to find somewhere else to redirect her attention, but every bit of Sherlock was a trap. Lips part in ecstasy, hooded eyes watching her in amusement. So much pale, smooth skin on display for Mycroft’s eyes only. Those hands at work, once again, undoing Sherlock’s trousers. When those fell, Mycroft quickly looked away. Downing the rest of her drink, she tried to ignore the sound of the music in the background as much as the sound of heels being carelessly kicked off.

The hand on her cheek, forcing her to look back with the gentlest of touches, was impossible to overlook. So with a strained breath, she looked back toward the darkest desire. Kneeling on her desk with spread legs, stretched forward to close the gap between them, Sherlock was a nightmare come true. That lithe form silhouetted by that purple shirt, the rich colour a contrast to the pale skin and black lace that barely covered her most intimate areas.

Licking her lips, Sherlock began to run her mouth along Mycroft’s jaw, fingers curling in her hair. Lips mouth in a mix of words sealed with a kiss as though she could brand Mycroft with them. Kissing at the shell of Mycroft’s ear, she chuckled in that dark way of hers and whispered, “Light of life, fire of loins. My sin, my soul.”

“Stop,” Mycroft said, as Sherlock began to nibble at her ear. Such a meaningless word since Mycroft knew that if she was bolder, she’d happily let Sherlock do whatever she pleased. Something her sister seemed intent on as she rested her other hand between Mycroft’s legs. “Stop.”

Leaning back enough to stare Mycroft in the eyes, wide blue eyes giving the illusion of innocence as she began to unbutton Mycroft’s top, Sherlock bit her lip nervously. Frozen, Mycroft couldn’t bring herself to move a muscle as the first three buttons were undone, shirt parted jut enough for Sherlock to run her fingers along the exposed skin.

“Humbert.”

Sitting back with a sigh, Sherlock nodded. Getting off Mycroft’s desk as gracefully as she had likely got onto it, Sherlock turned off the music before she began to redress as though nothing happened. Buttoning up her shirt, she looked over at Mycroft, obviously saddened. “You know, you don’t have to,” she said, pulling her hair out from her beneath her collar.

“Have to what?” Mycroft asked, hands shaking as she tried to pour herself another drink.

“Cringe and hide.”

Pulling her trousers back on, Sherlock didn’t bother putting her heels on. Instead, she merely bent over and picked them up with her coat, teasing without intent if the view of Mycroft got of her arse was anything to go on.  Leaning back in her seat, Mycroft stared at the wall, rather than her sister. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, as well as other areas she didn’t want controlling her actions.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Sherlock as the woman made her way out. “Sherlock... Wait.”

Looking back at her, Sherlock chuckled as she shook her head. If this was what she had been planning from the start, Mycroft almost had to commend her. After all, she knew why her sister indulged her most depraved feelings. Sherlock was just as depraved and far more accepting of it, judging by the way she kneeled between Mycroft’s legs, resting a cheek on her thigh as though she belonged there. Running her hands through Sherlock’s hair, Mycroft hated to admit that she just might.


End file.
